


Wheatgrass Shots

by dametokillfor



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 02:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15427029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dametokillfor/pseuds/dametokillfor
Summary: John would guess Sharpe is wearing serious face #42, slightly more severe than #43, but positively cheery compared to #41. He shoots a winning smile back at her, one that has melted hearts a thousand times stonier than hers.Not even the slightest quirk of the lips. She’s good, this one.---xIn which Ava gives the shovel talk, and John would rather be drinking goat semen.





	Wheatgrass Shots

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on my Tumblr a while ago, and felt like I should move it here for posterity. 
> 
> A first time playing with these hot messes, hopefully not the last.

“Constantine, a word?” 

 

Director Sharpe has her serious face on as she enters the kitchen. John is drinking some green concoction that’s more grass than drink - for some reason Gary had insisted scotch was not breakfast -  and he’s hating every mouthful of it. He’s almost relieved for the interruption. 

 

John would guess Sharpe is wearing serious face #42, slightly more severe than #43, but positively cheery compared to #41. He shoots a winning smile back at her, one that has melted hearts a thousand times stonier than hers.

 

Not even the slightest quirk of the lips. She’s good, this one.

 

He nods, leaning back against the counter. The grass juice goes down, and his hand reaches into the pocket of the coat he hastily threw on. There’s a lighter but no smokes. (He needs to have a serious talk with Gary about what vices he’s willing to work on.)

 

“I’m all ears, pet.” 

 

Sharpe takes her usual stance. Arms behind her back, straight and tall. Logically, John knows he has a couple of inches on her, but Ava owns a room the second she walks in. He feels drowned in his trenchcoat, and as if he’s being reprimanded by mum. 

 

“What are you intentions towards Agent Green?” She asks. 

 

Oh. He  _ is  _ being told off by mum.

 

“Haven’t got the foggiest idea what you’re on about.” John replies, because he’s not going to make this easy for her. 

 

“Don’t play dumb, Constantine.” She doesn’t roll her eyes, but John thinks it’s close, “Gary is a friend, and for some reason, he’s decided you’re the best thing since Thor.”

 

“And you want to protect his virtue from the big bad warlock?” 

 

Ava’s smile turns wicked, “Oh John, I’ve trained him well enough to protect his own virtue.” 

 

John doesn’t doubt that. He’s seen the body Gary is hiding under his ill fitting suits. You don’t get arms like that rolling dice. 

 

“But I do want you to know that if you break his heart, there’s nowhere and no  _ time  _ that you can hide from me, from the bureau. I will, happily, drop your ass in the middle of the Salem Witch Trials with a slinky in your hand.” 

 

John thinks there’s a story behind that, and he makes a mental note to ask Ava later, preferably when she’s not so set on having him disappeared. 

He takes a deep breath, because this isn’t going to be resolved with a sweet smile and false platitudes. He lifts up the grass juice. 

 

“See this?” He asks. He tilts it to one side, and it barely moves an inch, “Gary suggested it. It’s supposed to boost my immune system or some bollocks. Normally, I’d tell whoever’s sharing my bed that I’ll drink it, I’ll do whatever dear, and ditch it down the sink without a word.

 

“Instead, here I am, drinking  _ grass  _ because Gary asked me to.” John says, “Without a second thought for the scotch in the good Captain’s office.” 

 

Ava’s usual stern look softens, just a touch. She knows better than to be soft around John. He’d never let her hear the end of it. 

 

“I can’t even drink that.” She admits, “At least not without vodka.” 

 

“In it, before, or after?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“I might be a bastard, love, but I’m not gonna break his heart.” John says, taking a swig of the juice for good measure. His face scrunches up as he swallows, “Bloody hell, I’ve had goats semen that tasted better than that.”

 

“Goats semen?” Ava asks.

 

“Bein’ a master of the Dark Arts isn’t always pretty, pet.” He replies, with a strained smirk.

 

\---x

 

(Across the other side of the ship, Sara spots Gary leaving John’s room. He’s trying to be sneaky, but the shoes he insists on wearing squeak like nobody's business.

 

“Hey, Gary?” 

 

Sara takes great delight when Gary jumps nearly a foot in the air. 

 

“Captain Lance, I, um, hi, um, what do I owe this pleasure to? To what do I owe this pleasure?” He chirps out, nervously. 

 

She nods to John’s room, “You know if you hurt him, they’ll never find your body.” 

 

“I…” Gary looks as if he’s about to start a ramble, probably insist that he and John were simply playing Risk all night, and the cries of elation were due to conquering a territory. She shoots him a withering glance, it’s early, she’s not in the mood for bullshit. She’s also not stupid. 

Gary just bows his head, and pushes his glasses up his nose, “Understood, Captain Lance.”) 


End file.
